


Toward Something More

by HarryJ96



Series: Time After Time [2]
Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Best Friends, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Soft Friends, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:54:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26759065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarryJ96/pseuds/HarryJ96
Summary: Shyness gives way to friendship, which gives way to something more. A collection of friendship snapshots, featuring: fluff, nerves, more fluff, soft best friends, and - you guessed it - even more fluff.
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Series: Time After Time [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949536
Comments: 18
Kudos: 144





	Toward Something More

**Author's Note:**

> A prequel of sorts to the first fic in this series.

You don’t realize, at first, how shy she is. 

In some ways, she’s actually quite charismatic—all big smiles, wild hand gestures, and jaw-dropping, mind-boggling goals. 

It’s only on the last day of her first national team camp, when you’re all going out for a well-deserved “cheat day” dinner, that you realize you haven’t actually heard her speak a word all week. 

Your only real interaction with her had been when she had sat down next to you on the bus, unknowingly disrupting a sacred pre-game seating chart. Almost instantly, your bus buddy was looming over her, stone-faced, demanding that she find a new seat. She had jumped to her feet immediately, blushing a deep red and gesturing apologetically, before scurrying toward an empty aisle. 

“That was mean,” you’d muttered to your teammate, which earned you an eye roll. Biting your lip, you’d turned around in your seat, hoping to catch her eye. She was now sitting alone, hugging herself and staring out the window. A wave of guilt had rushed over you. She’d seemed to sense your gaze on her, because she soon turned and looked directly at you with wide green eyes. You’d grimaced and mouthed _I’m sorry._ She’d offered you a forgiving smile and mouthed _it’s okay._

It wasn’t okay though. Not for you. You want to be her friend, and by the last day of camp, you still haven’t had a proper conversation with her. You’re delighted, then, when she sits down next to you at the restaurant. You give her a cheerful _hello_ and she smiles into her menu. You order a hamburger with a side of coleslaw and a Diet Coke. She orders two large servings of French fries, seven different dipping sauces, and a green tea lemonade. You listen intently while she speaks quietly to the waitress. It’s the first time you’ve heard her voice and it’s beautiful—soft and articulate and laced with an obvious Southern Californian inflection. 

Some of your teammates tease her when the waitress sets down her “dinner.” She gives them the stink eye and tugs her plate closer to her, drawing another round of laughs from the table. The teammate to her right asks for a fry. She frowns and shakes her head _no_ , not slowing at all from the astonishing rate at which she’s putting away her food. 

A few minutes later, you ask for a fry. She smiles at you and nods, then hands you _two_ fries dipped in honey mustard. 

“ _She_ gets a French fry, but I don’t?” an outraged voice sounds from her right. She giggles and sort of shrugs, then pops another fry into her mouth. 

***

You and your teammates part ways the following morning. You linger in the hotel lobby, offering hugs and _see you soon_ s to your friends. She keeps her distance from everyone, but gives you a shy smile and a quiet _goodbye._ You beam and wave at her happily. It’s the first time she’s spoken directly to you. You count that as a win. 

***

The next camp comes just a few weeks later, and this time she’s your roommate. 

You have a late flight in, so it’s past midnight by the time you get to your room. You open the door quietly and tiptoe in, expecting to find her asleep. She’s awake though, perched on the arm of the hotel room loveseat, eyeing you carefully and tugging a little on one of her braids. She’s decked out in pink flannel pajamas with pandas on them, and fuzzy pink socks. You suppress a chuckle. 

“Hey,” you greet her cheerfully. You look around, deciding where to set down your belongings. 

“Uh, what bed is yours?” you ask her. She just stares at you. You give her an easy smile. “You can take whichever one you want. Seriously, I couldn’t care less.” She bites her lip and points at the one by the window. You smile again and nod, then dump your backpack and jacket onto the bed closest to the bathroom. 

She stands up from the chair, stretches, and then fully face-plants onto her bed. You giggle at her dramatics. She yawns and rests her head in her arms. 

“Tired?” you ask. She just sighs and shrugs, peeking at you through half-lidded eyes. “I’ll turn off the light soon,” you promise. “I just need to change into my pjs real quick.” 

You go through your bedtime routine quickly. When you emerge from the bathroom not five minutes later, she’s fully asleep, still on top of her bed. She’s snoring softly with her mouth slightly agape, and drooling a little onto her pillow. Your heart clenches at the adorable display. You go to the closet to fetch her an extra blanket, which you drape over her. She shifts subtly in her sleep and sighs happily at the added warmth. “Good night,” you whisper, before shutting off the light and slipping into your own bed. You let her quiet snores lull you sleep.

***

She’s decided to trust you, it seems. After that first night, and for the rest of camp, she hardly leaves your side. Around the team, she’s still quiet and reserved, rarely contributing to conversation unless spoken to directly. But when it’s just the two of you, well...you begin to see a whole different side of her. 

For one, she talks _a lot_. Over the course of the next two weeks, you learn all about her dogs, her sisters, her favorite podcasts and books. She tells you about yoga and meditation, and shows you her day planner and her many multicolored gel pens. She even raps, albeit poorly, her favorite Kendrick Lamar song for you. 

In return, you learn, she’s a terrific listener. She listens to you like she’s hanging onto your every word, leaning forward and nodding and staring at you with tender green eyes. You find yourself opening up to her like you haven’t in years. You tell her about your own family, and about your art and your faith. She asks if you’ll share some of your favorite Bible verses. You oblige, reading aloud while she follows along, resting her head on your shoulder and interrupting only to ask for the occasional clarification. 

She’s also not always the sweet angel she had first seemed. Over breakfast, you catch her stealing strawberries from three separate teammates’ plates while they’re not looking. (She at least has the decency to look a little guilty when she finds you watching her with a raised eyebrow). Once during practice, she sneaks up behind the team fitness coach before snatching the exercise ball from her hands and darting off with it. Your teammates laugh and cheer as she drops it to her feet and sends it into the net in a long, clumsy arc. She laughs and raises her arms victoriously, looking truly delighted with herself, then runs and jumps into your arms for a celebratory hug. 

She sits down next to you on the bus again, this time with an impish glint in her eyes. You share a conspiratorial smile. Your bus buddy soon appears beside her and opens her mouth, certainly to tell her off. She must notice the resolve in your eyes though, since instead of mouthing off, she just smirks, glares at the pair of you, then stalks off to sit next to someone else. 

As soon as she’s out of earshot, you dissolve into giggles. You throw an arm around your new bus buddy’s shoulders. 

“There’s gonna be hell to pay,” you whisper. 

“Worth it,” she whispers back. 

Ten minutes later, she falls asleep against your shoulder. _Yeah,_ you think, _worth it._

***

Before the next camp, you call your team manager to request her as a roommate again. 

“I already received your request,” he informs you, sounding slightly annoyed. 

“What?” you ask, genuinely confused. 

“I already received your request,” he repeats. “I got off the phone with your roommate, like, thirty minutes ago.” 

“Oh” is your surprised answer. You apologize and thank him, and then hang up with a giant grin on your face. 

You fly in late again. She’s already asleep this time, snoring away in the bed by the window. You’re so happy to see her.

***

She fits into your life so easily, it’s hard to believe there was ever a time you _weren’t_ friends. 

You sit with her at meals and on the bus. You stay late together after practice, taking extra shots on goal, or practicing your juggling, or, sometimes, just laying on the pitch and talking. You share a blanket during team movie nights and, when you inevitably fall asleep halfway through, she pulls you in close and plays with your hair. 

Between camps, you stay connected via a constant stream of texts. She sends you memes and articles and pictures of dogs. You text her pictures of street art and encouraging Bible verses. You rarely talk on the phone—she talks as much with her hands as she does with her voice, so you prefer to FaceTime so you can get the full effect. 

During camps, you’re really only ever apart before games. You like your hard chill—laying in bed with your decaf coffee and your Nintendo Switch, getting up only to pee or to pay for room service. _She_ likes to shop. You know she’d prefer it if you came with her, but she doesn’t complain, doesn’t even say a word. She does, however, bring you back small gifts from time to time—a book of sermons, a pair of sunglasses with orange plastic frames, and—your favorite—a t-shirt bearing a cartoon pickle and the caption “I’m kind of a big dill.” 

At that last one you laugh until you’re red in the face. “I love it,” you say, pulling her into a hug. “It’s perfect.” _She’s perfect_ , you think. 

***

You get sick one night with a nasty stomach flu. She stays up all night taking care of you, bringing you fizzy water and medicine and extra blankets. You’re too nauseous to speak, even to thank her. She doesn’t seem to mind. 

You’re feeling much better by the next morning and you thank her profusely, 

“It’s no problem,” she says with a warm smile. “You’d do it for me.”

You would, and you do, two nights later when she gets sick too. 

***

She appears next to your bed when you wake up from a bad dream, gasping for breath and pushing sweaty hair out of your face. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice raspy from sleep and full of concern. 

“Fine,” you pant. “Bad dream.” 

“Do you wanna tell me about it?” she murmurs, stroking her hand across your sticky forehead and tucking a strand of damp hair behind your ear. 

“No,” you mutter, “it’s stupid.” 

“Hey, it’s okay, really, you can tell m—“ 

“Dinosaurs.” 

“What?” 

“Dinosaurs. I was having a bad dream about dinosaurs.” 

“Dinosaurs,” she repeats, blinking at you slowly. A grin gradually spreads across her face and she starts to giggle. You scowl at her and the giggles turn into loud guffaws. You clamp a hand over her mouth. 

“Shh! You’re going to wake up our neighbors,” you shush her, thinking of your teammates. You definitely do _not_ need them to overhear this conversation. 

“I can’t believe my roommate is such a dork!” she whisper-yells. 

“ _You’ve_ obviously never seen _Jurassic Park_ ,” you grumble. 

“Oh, sweetie,” she says, her voice dripping with mock-pity. “I’ve seen _Jurassic Park._ It is _not_ that scary.” You glare at her, then flip onto your stomach with a huff, burying your face in your pillow. 

“You know,” she continues, “I probably have an old t-shirt lying around somewhere that you could use for a security blanket.” 

In response, you poke your hand out from where it was burrowed under the blanket and flip her off. She giggles again, then goes quiet. After a moment, you feel a gentle hand on your back. “Seriously, though,” she says softly, “are you...good?” 

You lift your head up and give her a crooked smirk and a thumbs up. “I think I’ll live,” you answer with a playful wink. She smiles and attempts a wink in return, then climbs back into bed and flicks off the bedside lamp. You soon fall back to sleep, this time dreaming of soft smiles and pretty green eyes. 

***

You love her. 

You’re pretty sure she loves you too. You’ve noticed the way she sometimes spaces out and just stares at you. The way she goes out of her way just to be near you, or touch you, or hug you. The way she visibly brightens and relaxes when you walk into the room. It’d be worth it, you think, to tell her. Even if she didn’t feel the same way, you know she’d still be your friend. You trust her. 

The only thing stopping you, the only problem, is that you aren’t exactly _out_ yet. Your teammates already know, of course. They’re largely gay themselves, and there are certain things that don’t need to be said out loud between queer women. But your parents don’t know. You want desperately to tell them, but you’re scared. It’s been eating at you for years, and you don’t want to bring that into a relationship with her. 

You’ve been praying for her every night for a while. Now, you pray for courage as well. 

***

You do come out to your parents. You play a tournament back East and they come to see you. They take you out for dinner afterwards and you tell them. Your mom asks you again and again if you’re sure. Your dad just sighs heavily and says he’ll pray for you. 

You cry the entire way back to your hotel. 

She’s there when you go up to your room. You don’t tell her what happened, but she can tell something is wrong and she’s especially kind to you all evening. She makes you a cup of tea, spooning in some milk and honey—extra sugar you shouldn’t be having—with a mischievous wink over her shoulder. She lets you pick a movie to watch and doesn’t even complain when you choose _Shrek_ (your favorite—you’ve made her watch it twice already this year). Before you get into bed that night, she wraps her arms around your waist and rests her chin on your shoulder. 

“Are you okay?” she questions softly. 

“Yeah,” you answer. You are, now. She nods against your shoulder. 

“I love you,” she whispers. You’re too choked up to really respond so you just squeeze her gently. After another minute, you pull back with a wavering smile and crawl under the covers. You sleep soundly that night. 

You have another game two days later, a couple of states away. Your mom flies out to see you and takes you out to dinner again. She apologizes and tells you she loves and supports you, no matter what. You forgive her immediately. She asks if there’s anyone special. You blush deeply and your mom practically squeals with excitement. She doesn’t press you too hard for details, just asking if she’s good to you. Your answer is a resounding _yes_. 

When you get back to your hotel room that night, there’s another cup of tea waiting for you and _Shrek 2_ queued up on the TV. You giggle and bounce over to your bed, picking up the remote and pressing play. She grins at you from across the room. 

Good to you, indeed. 

*** 

She challenges you to a game of Crazy Eights and beats you handily. To be fair, you’re only barely paying attention. You wonder if she can tell, as she deals out another game, that you’re sitting here _agonizing_ about how to ask her out. This is the most important question you’ll have ever asked anyone, and you want to do it right. 

_I love you,_ you think, _will you go on a date with me? You’re so beautiful, do you want to go out with me? I’ve fallen in love with you, will you-_

“Will you go on a date with me?” The question startles you from your inner monologue. Your heart rate kicks into overdrive and you nearly drop your cards. You think, for a moment, that you must have heard her wrong. Then you meet her eyes and see all the hope, the nerves, and the fondness in her face, and all doubt is thrown out the window. _This is it,_ you think. _She’s putting herself out there for you. She’s being so brave, don’t mess it up._ You pause, take a deep breath, and then, with all the courage and confidence and sincerity you can muster, you breathe out, 

“Yes.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm not as pleased with this as I was with my last fic, but 'tis what 'tis! Let me know what you think :)


End file.
